


ne me quitte pas

by mm_nani



Series: windmills of your mind [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Heavy Angst, M/M, Marco doesn't remember their divorce, Temporary Amnesia, and it's very painful for auba, i feel quite numb, i've finally birthed my paranoia baby, it was cathartic writing this, married and divorced, transfer angst heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 15:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/pseuds/mm_nani
Summary: Marco wakes up from a coma and forgets that he and Auba are already divorced.





	ne me quitte pas

**Author's Note:**

> 'ne me quitte pas' is french for do not leave me - title is from Dusty Springfield's [if you go away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyCVxPEPx5Y&index=2&list=RDqKV9bK-CBXo). That and her cover of windmills of your mind was my angst soundtrack while writing this
> 
> partially beta'd by my spouse, Alexander Marcus Ander Mourinho [last name redacted], because every awesome person as at least three middle names. partially beta'd because i was lying in a pool of my blood after stabbing myself in the heart with this fic and couldn't wait for the full betaing experience because tbh i didn't want to deal with my feelings any longer.
> 
> So this angst boat is your responsibility now, weep with me at pierreus, bvb and the total mess of chronological order that is this fic.

[Parts in italic  _happened in the past_ ]

 

*

He’s biking alongside the Mayenne when the call comes. 

 

The phone buzzes against his thigh but it will stop soon. No one really calls him anymore, no one he needs to stop biking for. 

 

The buzzing stops and starts again.

 

Auba finally halts, the bike skidding to a stop in front of a bush sprouting flowers that paints the river with a red and green reflection.

 

He doesn’t recognize the number.

*

 

_ Hello, am I speaking to Aubameyang? _

 

It sounds like a voice he used to hear often but can no longer place, like a habit he’s had to give up.

 

_ Yes. _

 

_ Auba! It’s Mario. _

 

It feels a little random for Mario to call, he’s lost touch with his teammates from Dortmund over the years. Maybe Mario is in France and wants to catch up.

 

_ My old friend! How are you? _

 

_ I’m calling about Marco. _

 

Auba’s heart stills for a moment. There’s no reason someone would call him about Marco, unless-

 

_ Is he okay? _

 

There’s a pause.

 

_ He’s okay-  _ Auba feels relief wash over him- _ he’s asking for you. _

 

Auba laughs,  _ Is he drunk? You know you can’t give him beer and tequila in the same night.  _ It’s weird to talk about Marco like they’re kids in their 20s again, like they haven’t avoided each other for the last decade.

 

_ Marco woke up from his coma and he’s asking for you...he’s forgotten things. _

 

That statement probably warrants many questions. But Auba is stuck between the shock of Marco having been in a coma and the sharp pain of realizing that he’s no longer important enough to know these things about Marco when they happen.

 

_ Marco was in a coma? _

 

_ It was medically induced. He crashed his car, i thought you knew- _ Mario’s voice goes soft and apologetic, as though just realizing that Auba should have received this call earlier _ \- it was, it was in the news.  _

 

_ Not in France, it wasn’t.  _ Auba tries not to sound petulant. Mario’s sigh suggests that he didn’t succeed.

 

_ Look, he wants to talk to you. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him about the-  _ Mario pauses, releases a breath-  _ when i tell him what happened with you guys. I think he needs to hear it from you. _

 

 _You want me to tell him_ _we’re divorced? He doesn’t remember that?_

 

Auba feels suddenly annoyed, he didn’t know what he expected from Mario; plans to meet up in that cafe across the street maybe, not digging up scars long tattooed over.

 

_ Yes. I’m sorry, I just-he’s hurt and confused. I don’t know how to calm him down. _

 

_ Yeah- I get it.  _ He doesn’t, not really _. Give him the phone. _

 

Auba means to keep it short and to the point. Factual, heartless if need be, so that Marco believes him. 

 

But then he hears Marco’s voice-

 

_ Auba... _

 

It’s soft and hopeful.

 

Marco always knew how to break his heart.

 

_ Sweetheart, where are you? Are you really in France? _

 

Marco’s voice is shaking. 

 

_ Yes. _

 

If Auba had said anymore his voice would shake too.

 

_ I’m in the fucking hospital and had fucking brain surgery and you’re in France?  _ Marco sounds so angry, it starts giving Auba flashbacks to the final months before they separated. He can hear shuffling in the background, Mario’s soothing voice telling Marco to calm down, _ I don’t like this prank anymore, Auba, just-just come home. _

 

*

 

Auba boards the next flight to Germany.

 

*

 

Marco’s face relaxes the minute his eyes fall on Auba, he tries to get up but his sister pushes him back against the bed, keeps him lying down.

 

Marco’s entire head is bandaged, a few blond strands peeking out rebelliously and Auba can see a few bruises on his face but otherwise he looks healthy and Auba feels relieved.

 

‘Come here, you asshole.’ Marco pushes his sister until she releases her hold on him but he doesn’t try to get up again. Auba catches her eyes and she frowns at him. Clearly, her memories are all intact, Auba is surprised he’s been allowed to come back, to see Marco.

 

Auba approaches Marco, he leans into the hug that Marco initiates but he surprises Auba with a kiss. He stills against Marco’s eager lips and Marco retracts, his face shattered, ‘Sorry, I must smell bad, like-like hospital _._ ’ He chuckles unsurely, trying to hide his disappointment.

 

It takes Auba a fraction of a second to decide that he needs to wipe that expression off Marco’s face whether it’s still his right to or not. Auba pulls Marco into a kiss that he reciprocates enthusiastically.  He  _ does _ smells like hospital, the stench of pills and ethanol strong on his body but the kiss makes Auba’s heart race and knees feel weak regardless. 

 

Marco lets Auba in without inhibitions and Marco was always good at that, giving himself 100% to the things he cared about.

 

When they break apart this time, Marco looks deliriously happy, like a puppy who’s just gotten a treat.

 

‘Don’t do that anymore. Don’t joke about not being with me,’ Marco says, with a slap on his chest. ‘I won’t be able to take it.’ He adds softly at the end, enough that Auba can pretend not to have heard it if he wanted to.

 

Melanie looks at them worriedly.

 

*

 

‘You look forty,’ Marco tells him, as he shovels his second caramel pudding into his mouth, ‘that and the fact that I can eat like this are the only reasons I can believe this is real.’

 

*

 

Marco freaks out when he sees his hair, it’s shaved on the side that they cut him open. Leaving it like that was probably a mistake on their part but with all the bandages no one had really realized that Marco was only partially bald now.

 

Marco refuses to eat until they agree to fix it. It perplexes his medical team and everyone insists that it’s an unnecessary risk to cut his hair before the stitches have completely healed. Auba can tell that Marco is only scared, he knows that the tantrums edge on anxieties that touch upon more than just his appearance.

 

They give in eventually, but Marco needs moral support once they realize no undercut, edge or mohawk could save the rushed way they had to shave his head before surgery.

 

A nurse gets ready to shave off the rest of Marco’s hair. But for Auba - roped into doing this because Marco’s pleading eyes still makes his stomach flip -it’s Mats, looking at the clipper in his hand like it has personally offended him.

 

‘You have used one of these before, right?’ Auba asks Mats, unable to trust a single word that flows out of the man’s mouth.

 

‘Stop freaking out,’ Mats replies as the clippers buzz to life, the nurse is holding Marco’s head in her hands gently as she brushes the clippers through.

 

‘Just like mowing a lawn,’ Mats whispers as he descends upon Auba with his pair.

 

Marco holds his hand through it.

 

*

 

Auba tries to tell Melanie that Marco is not just going to go for moving into his parents’ house during recovery.

 

They have Auba on standby to convince Marco that being with his parents is the best medical decision instead of returning to their- _ now just Marco’s _ -villa. 

 

‘Is this what you want?’ Marco asks him when Melanie breaks the news.

 

Auba can’t really think about what he wants, he’s locked the answer to this question deep,  _ deep  _ within, long ago.

 

‘It’s the doctor’s recommendation. Melanie will move in temporarily, there’s going to be more people to look after you, talk to you.’ Auba lists off the reasons he’s been taught.

 

‘But you’re not coming.’ Marco is quick to catch onto what Auba doesn’t say.

 

‘I’ll visit,’ Auba pauses and knows that he’s lost Marco even before he’s finished, ‘everyday.’

 

Marco turns around, fusses with his overnight bag, the lines of his shoulders turned sharply upwards, ‘Yeah,’ he says, voice cold as ice, ‘that sounds like it’s the right thing to do.’

 

Auba knows that he’s just a pawn in all this. He’s not supposed to have feelings or make decisions but Auba knows Marco in ways that Melanie, despite being his sister, doesn’t.

 

Auba knows what it’s like to fight with Marco, too see every precious thing you’ve built with him crumble piece by piece and be helpless to stop it. 

 

Auba knows what it feels like to spend a decade counting those pieces and thinking of ways he could have glued them back together.

 

‘C’mon.’ he says, holds Marco by his arm and turns him around, looks straight at him, ‘I’m taking you home.’

 

*

 

Marco stiffens when he enters their- _ his- _ house.

 

So does Auba. It’s his first time too, unbeknownst to Marco he stayed in a hotel up until today.

 

There’s no doubt about it, it’s a stranger’s house.

 

If Auba doesn’t recognize it, Marco probably recognizes it even less.

 

*

 

‘The pots are at least where I remember them.’ Marco says, voice high and cheerful. Forced. ‘Where’s the spaghetti?’

 

‘You’re not allowed in the kitchen anymore, sweetheart.’ Auba let’s the nickname slip, it’s an easy tactic to distract him from the fact that Auba doesn’t know either.

 

‘Why not?’

 

‘You almost burned the house trying to make lasagna.’

 

‘I did?’ Marco questions like he doesn’t believe it, ‘are you sure it wasn’t you?’

 

Auba laughs, ‘I’m sure, it was definitely you.’ He says, gently prying the saucepan out of his hands. Auba doesn’t say it’s because Marco had stormed off after a fight, forgetting that he had left the oven on.

 

‘Let’s get take out.’ Auba offers the alternative and Marco leans into him, arms circling around his waist. Auba is both pleased and alarmed at how well Marco still fits into his arms.

 

‘Okay,’ Marco says, thoroughly distracted now, staring down at Auba’s lips.

 

Auba’s glad that he at least remembers what Marco’s favorite takeout restaurants are.

 

*

Auba does genuinely try not to gratuitously touch Marco throughout the evening and succeeds to a certain extent, he thinks. But it’s difficult, when you’re lying next to Marco and he decides to climb on top of you.

 

His hands come up instantly to hold Marco by the hips - _ to stop him from grinding on him _ \- Auba rationalizes. But there’s no way to stop Marco from kissing him, slow but deep, tongue probing and insistent.

 

Auba makes a pathetic attempt at stopping him but the outlines of Marco’s face in the dark, the hazy lines of his body smudge into the lines of Auba’s darkest fantasies and he loses sight of  both propriety and the limitations of his heart.

 

Auba rolls them around, so that Marco is on his back now, runs his hand across Marco’s buzzcut, gently so as to avoid his bandaging. Auba realizes that he’s been here before, holding Marco as a gaping wound bleeds around them, Marco looking up at him like he needs to be saved.

 

‘It wasn’t a joke, was it?’ Marco whispers and his words swirl into the darkness. Marco’s hands dig into his shirt when he doesn’t respond, ‘Auba please, don’t make me say it.’

 

‘What tipped you off?’ Auba doesn’t really want to say it either, tries to roll off but Marco doesn’t let him. Auba ends up with his head on Marco’s chest and Marco’s fingers scratching across the matching buzzcut on his scalp , a quiet peace that leaves Auba cold.

 

‘Other than Mario yelling it from the top of his lung?’ Auba can feel the sigh rise through Marco’s chest. 

 

‘I woke up in a hospital and you weren’t there.’

 

*

 

When Auba squints his eyes open against the soft rays of sunlight leaving the room in stripes, it’s to Marco’s back. 

 

Marco is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. The bandage protecting his stitches are slightly askew.

 

‘Good morning.’ Auba murmurs, though it feels far from it. It’s still early and there’s an eerie stillness, Auba remembers the shape of this room, filled with the memories of Marco and him, of happy times, and of sad ones too.

 

He reaches out to fix the bandage, inches from the soft gray material of Marco’s shirt and decides against it.

 

‘I was going to tell you to go back to France,’ Marco says, the words are slow, released in careful measures into the deceptively tranquil morning, ‘that’s where you live now, right?’

 

Auba stretches and gets up, ‘Yeah.’

 

‘But I-I need-,’ A tremor runs down Marco’s spine, ‘I suddenly woke up in a world where you don’t love me anymore,’ Marco breathes heavily, his face is turned up to the ceiling. ‘I need time.’

 

Auba hugs Marco from behind, pulling him to his chest- uses his hands to cover his eyes, expects the wetness across his palm.

 

‘What do you remember?’ Auba whispers as softly as he can, he understands this heartbreak all too well, it pricks at the edges of the memories he’s been trying to bury.

 

‘It was our first anniversary some weeks ago. I remember going to bed with you, you telling me you love me. I remember that there were pictures of us,’ Marco’s full-on crying now, breathing shakily against him, Auba tries to catch the tears but it’s streams past faster than he can.

 

‘That’s where we’ll start,’ he soothes, ‘you don’t have to worry about me.’

 

*

 

_ They get married in France. _

 

_ Marco has come to France with Auba before, but it’s the first time Auba takes him to his childhood neighborhood in Laval. Marco can feel how Auba’s skin buzzes underneath his fingers. _

 

_ Coming back. _

 

_ Being home. _

 

_ Marco understands the intensity of these feelings. _

 

_ He  isn’t expecting the proposal. Auba gets down on one knee on the pitch where he first started playing football and even before Auba says a word, Marco is crying.  _

 

_ They lost the Pokal to Wolfsburg two days ago and Marco is as inconsolable as he always is after a loss. _

 

_ ‘No matter what happens by the time the season ends,’ Auba says and Marco expects him to start laughing at any moment now, tell him it’s a joke but he pulls out a ring, ‘I want you to know that I’ll be there, even when there’s no football and even when there is and it’s all just shit, you can always look forward to us.’ _

 

_ Marco doesn’t even let Auba finish, he drops to his knees and kisses him, rolling onto the pitch. He feels as breathless as he does when he’s scored a goal. There’s grass in Auba’s hair when they break apart and Auba looks up at him with the biggest smile on his face, ‘Will you marry me?’ Auba asks. _

 

_ No, Marco feels as breathless as winning. _

 

_ Auba came prepared with tuxedos. Marco’s sleeves are too long and Auba seems only very mildly apologetic about it.  _

 

_ Marco thinks of big weddings on beaches with live music and a color scheme, of secret dreams and two grooms on one cake. _

 

_ When the judge pronounces them married, in a language Marco doesn’t understand, Auba’s hands in his makes the color scheme of the courtroom look finer than any he could have picked himself. _

 

_ Auba gently cups the back of his head and kisses him.  _

 

_ Marco’s heart swells; he struggles with keeping them a secret sometimes, hates that most of his teammates don’t hide who they go to bed with at night but at moments like these, it’s just right. _

 

_ Marco doesn’t like to share, much less his tender moments with Auba. _

 

_ Later, Auba’s brother,Willy, yells at them a lot but they’re too busy making out to care. _

 

*

 

Marco cooks and the day is filled with the nostalgia of normalcy between them.

 

Auba is sitting in his old house, pining after what-ifs as Marco, with his slightly greyed hair, eats his eggs.

 

Every fibre of his being tells him that letting Marco snuggle up to him as they watch TV is a bad idea, but Auba was always terrible at saying no to Marco. Marco settles against him, one of Auba’s hand draped over his shoulder casually as though Marco hadn’t once ripped Auba’s heart apart.

 

‘I don’t know why you fell out of love with me.’ Marco starts and Auba gets a sinking feeling that has nothing to do with the man about to murder his ex in a jealous rage on screen, ‘But I know that you loved me once and maybe you can again.’

 

Maybe, it would be easier if Marco tried to murder him. Auba isn’t convinced that Marco isn’t, in fact, trying.

 

‘Marco…’ He has strict orders to be gentle about the memories he shares with Marco regarding their relationship. He doesn’t even particularly want to be the one to tell him about the bad, ugly parts. He doesn’t want to break it to Marco that they tried, that it took everything from him to give Marco up, that he wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t the only option.

 

‘We can start with dating, let’s go on a date. One date.’ Marco says, gently pleading.

 

Auba was always good at telling when he was playing a game he would lose.

 

*

 

_ ‘You can’t just keep pretending I’m a one night stand...for three months.’ Auba’s words stops Marco midway between pulling on his shirt, ‘Stay the night.’ Auba knows that Marco wants to, Marco has been battling between what he can do and what he wants to do the whole time they’ve been sleeping together. _

 

_ Marco, looks at him for one long moment and they silently negotiate this, Auba thinks his raised eyebrows conveyed ‘i’m more than a hunk of meat’ quite well. Marco takes his shirt off again and gets back into bed, tucking himself into Auba’s side. _

 

_ Auba wraps him up in his arms, ‘we should go on a date,’ he says. _

 

_ And Marco breathes out into his chest, his words coming out muffled, ‘you know we can’t.’ _

 

_ ‘We can and we should.’ _

 

_ Marco makes a reluctant noise. _

 

_ ‘C’mon,  let’s go on a date. One date.’ _

 

*

 

Neither of them are of the stare longingly into each other’s eyes over candlelight kind of people so the date turns out to be dinner at a burger joint Mario swears Marco loves (order number nine on the menu) and Marco insists on ‘walking’ him home.

 

‘Since it’s your house,’ Auba starts, ‘technically I’m walking you home.’

 

‘In my version, it’s still our house. So we’re sticking to what’s convenient for the scenario.’

 

‘You were always into roleplay.’ Auba says without thinking and peeks a look at Marco next to him when he realizes his mistake. There’s a blush on his cheek and Marco has his head turned down with a pleased look. 

 

It makes butterflies run across his stomach but Auba isn’t supposed to be flirting with his ex-husband right now.

 

Marco takes a detour so that they’re walking along the Phoenix-See and it’s so predictably romantic, that Auba should have seen the gentle tug on his wrist and soft lips against his coming.

 

But he doesn’t and his instincts have to take over.

 

Auba is just so tired of holding back.

 

*

Marco stills when Auba pulls out a condom.

 

They didn’t need one when they were married.

 

‘Right.’ Marco breathes, ‘This is our future.’

 

*

 

Waking up naked to an equally naked Marco, quietly dozing next to him feels like waking up in an alternate universe.

 

Marco’s eyes flutter open slowly, the wrinkles on his face crease into a smile when he notices Auba watching him. Auba traces them with wonder, pretends that he knows the origins of every unfamiliar line intimately.

 

Auba’s chest aches with the need to know the stories these lines tell, the stories he’s missed. The news articles he had convinced himself were enough over the years, falls laughably short in the face of the real thing.

 

Marco’s fingers caress his back gently, ‘what?’ he says on a slight giggle.

 

‘I love you.’ Auba chances, lets himself realize the eternal truth in those words. He is surprised when everything doesn’t crumble immediately around him.

 

Marco’s returning smile is breathtaking. 

 

‘I love you too.’ Marco says it back as though the words aren’t a weapon they’ve used against each other over and over again. Auba should stop being surprised at how easy this is: Marco climbing on top of him, breathing his name, touching him.

 

Loving Marco was never the hard part.

 

*

 

_ ‘How much longer won’t you talk to me?’ Auba doesn’t try to hide his exasperation. _

 

_ ‘I am talking to you.’ Marco is loading up their dishwasher. His back may be turned to him but Auba knows him, knows the frown on his face giving away the lie even without looking at it. _

 

_ ‘You’re not supposed to be doing that.’ Auba says with a click of his tongue, pulls Marco up so that he’s propped against the counter, leaning on a crutch and Auba takes over, ‘You need to take care of your injury.’ _

 

_ Marco scoffs. _

 

_ Auba abandons the dishwasher to rest his hand against Marco’s waist. _

 

_ ‘I’m here.’ He whispers and Marco inhales sharply. _

_ ‘No, you’re not.’ Marco says, the weight of his transfer request lies heavy between them, making the inches between their bodies seem like an insurmountable distance. _

 

_ Auba sighs, ‘I meant for you. With you. This isn’t supposed to change us.’ _

 

_ ‘I didn’t ask you to stay.’ Marco says stubbornly. _

 

_ ‘Would it help if I left?’ Devastation takes over Marco’s face and Auba has to backtrack, ‘this house I mean, tonight or for a little while so you have some space.’ _

 

_ ‘I don’t know Auba,’ Marco’s eyes flash and the intensity in them hold too many emotions, ‘I didn’t think I was allowed an opinion on whether you stayed or left.’ _

 

*

‘I think I remember now.’

 

Auba’s heart stops at Marco’s soft words, but Marco is still spooning him, his fingers running circles around the bumps of Auba’s collarbone.

 

‘I think I remember almost burning down the house.’

 

‘What do you remember?’ Auba isn’t sure he remembers all the specifics himself, Marco leaving in a huff and Auba going to bed defeated, a dull ache in his heart and waking up with his lungs heavy with smoke.

 

‘I was so angry.’ Marco laughs, ‘I remember being angry for leaving that night. For hurting you.’

 

‘You hadn’t. You were just trying to do something nice for me.’

 

‘Oh yes, a nice gesture. Someone told me to do that. Someone told me to be nice to you.’ Marco laughs like he can’t believe it, ‘who was it?’

 

Auba pauses, not sure if Marco is ready to hear it. ‘Our therapist.’

 

Auba can feel Marco’s chest rise and feels the sigh against his cheek, ‘That bad, huh?’

 

*

_ ‘We can get married.’ Marco says. He has been trying not to be too hopeful into the days leading up to the ruling. But it has finally happened, the Bundestag has passed same-sex marriage. _

 

_ A forgotten door opens up in Marco’s heart and it swells with the rush of all the desires he’d buried deep within. _

 

_ Color schemes, a giant cake and tuxedos that fit. _

 

_ Marco, buzzing with happiness, jumps into Auba’s arm. _

 

_ Auba holds him tight, holds him close, wants to marry him again in Germany. _

 

_ ‘Let’s have a ceremony, okay? Marco whispers into his neck and Auba lets out a wet chuckle nodding furiously, knows that Marco’s been dying to have a grand wedding. He also knows that legal or not as long as they’re both still playing Marco can’t get his grand wedding. _

 

_ But their identities don’t seem to matter right this instant. Living in this opportunity, Auba feels important, feels the weight of the things they may do one day between their clasped hands. _

 

_ It makes him hope. _

 

_ It makes him forget that two days ago Marco said that he was thinking of leaving him. _

 

_ * _

Auba knows that Marco remembers more and more everyday.

 

Mostly snatches of feelings and situations. Sometimes, they’re vivid and he’ll ask to confirm if something really happened.

 

‘Did we really win the Pokal together?’ Marco says, eyes glistening, too afraid to believe what he’s remembering.

 

‘Yes.’ Auba replies, ‘We did and it was really awesome.’ 

 

‘You scored.’

 

‘A penalty, yes.’

 

‘Pulisic’s?’ Marco looks at him like they’re playing a guessing game

 

‘Yes.’

 

He looks a little like he’s won when he gets the answer right, bumping his fist into the air.

 

They’re lounging on the bed and Marco curls their fingers together, ‘It feels like I dreamt it, shit.’

 

‘We did dream it. For a very long time, together.’ Auba responds

 

Marco rolls closer to kiss him, ‘I can only imagine how great the sex must have been.’

 

‘Yeah, well-

 

‘No wait.’ Marco cuts him off and he’s looking at him like he can’t believe it.

‘I got injured.’

 

*

 

‘Congratulations, Marco is having quite a remarkable recovery.’

 

The room erupts into applause. 

 

Marco does a little victory dance, ‘I’m really good at this recovery thing, aren’t I?’ He says grinning.

 

The doctor hands Marco’s reports to Melanie before heading out and the nurses help him out of the various wires plugged across his body. There’s a spring in Marco’s step when he gets off the hospital bed. He stretches looking relieved and hugs Melanie before coming towards Auba.

 

They’d already talked about keeping their closeness a secret from family and friends so as to not alarm them.

 

Of course, Marco forgets.

 

When Marco leans in to kiss him, Auba’s eyes go wide and Marco suddenly remembers, and moves at the last moment to hug him instead. The sides of their foreheads collide and Melanie squeals, ‘Marco, careful!’

 

And the entire room watches Marco brush his fingers tenderly across Auba’s elbows and his eyes linger lovingly across Auba’s face.

 

Marco becomes very single minded with his affections. Being at the centre of it makes people feel like they’re the centre of the universe.

 

And completely worthless when they’re stripped off it.

 

*

 

Mats stops him at the garage. 

 

‘Get a drink with me.’

 

Mats looks like he’s holding back a lecture.

 

‘I don’t much feel like getting yelled at right now.’

 

‘Yeah? Then you probably shouldn’t be sleeping with your ex.’ Mats says but then his face softens, ‘Marco isn’t the only one who hasn’t seen you in a decade.’ and this time Auba doesn’t resist when Mats pulls him towards his car.

 

They head to the nearest pub. Marco is out to dinner with his family and Melanie has promised to drive him home.

 

Auba orders a sandwich, Mats orders two whiskeys.

 

‘You’re not messing around.’

 

‘You look like you need it.’ Mats scoffs.

 

‘Me?’

 

‘Yes, you. Your face looks like your soul is slowly getting sucked out of your body.’

 

Auba narrows his eyes at him, ‘That is racism.’ His nostrils flare from trying to keep back his grin.

 

Mats narrows his eyes back, ‘yeah? What is this then?’ Mats tickles Auba and Auba tries to push him away, holding in his squeals but Mats doesn’t relent, holds Auba close by his sleeve.

 

‘A hate crime! A hate crime!’

 

Mats lets him go and Auba is laughing, ‘Shit dude, people will really think I’m hurting you.’ But Mats is laughing and Auba can’t help laughing either. 

 

‘You  _ are  _ hurting me.’ Auba says in between giggles.

 

He’s missed this. He’s missed Mats. He’s missed his life in Dortmund. 

 

‘You should go back.’ Mats says suddenly and Auba can’t help the sliver of betrayal he feels at the words.

 

Mats must notice his face fall because he’s quick to explain himself, ‘I want you here. Of course I do. But if you come back. Come back because you want to. Not because you think Marco needs you.’

 

‘He does need me. What do you want me to do?’ He downs his drink in one go because he kind of needs to, to be thinking about this.

 

About the end.

 

‘I’m sure we have you to thank for the remarkable recovery.’ Mats says and he looks conflicted as he says the next part, ‘but I’d like you to end this fantasy before he does it for you.’

 

*

 

There’s no way to stop Marco from remembering the bad things.

 

Marco thinks Auba doesn’t hear him sighing at night or sobbing behind the closed bathroom door.

 

It’s like living his divorce, day by day all over again and Auba is just as helpless to stop it this time.

 

Marco doesn’t talk to him about it and Auba knows from experience that he won’t suddenly start.

 

‘I’m going to spend the night at Mario’s’ Marco tells him one night and Auba has a moment of deja vu. Marco looks tired in this scenario though, like he’s aged 10 years and have spent none of those sleeping.

 

Auba picks up Marco’s overnight bag from the floor and hands it to him, gently curling a hand around his waist. He kisses him on the cheek, ‘Have fun. Snap me.’

 

Marco chances a smile, ‘I love you.’ his voice shakes like he’s not sure anymore.

 

Auba only pulls him into a kiss goodbye.

 

Knows it’s beyond the point when he can say it back.

 

*

 

_ ‘Where are you going?’ Auba sounds angry but when Marco turns to face him he looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in a decade. _

 

_ ‘Mario’s.’ Marco responds, before he’s pulling his backpack over his shoulder and heading out the door. _

 

_ Auba stops him, grabs at his bag. Marco has to turn around again from the force of it. _

 

_ ‘He did the exact same thing but actually left.’ Auba is shouting now, ‘How can you forgive him but not me?’ He doesn’t mean to shake Marco, but Marco is insistently pulling back on his bag and trying to move away. Marco is trying to run away from him. It hurts enough when he does it emotionally, but to physically see him do it makes Auba nauseous. _

 

_ ‘He  _ **_left_ ** _ because he wasn’t passed up for Neymar.’ Marco says spitefully. _

 

_ Auba lets go just as Marco pulls, sends him flying backwards. Marco curses and loses his balance. It’s been a few months but his knee is still wonky and worrying about it is the first reaction they both have to Marco falling. Auba rushes to help him up. _

 

_ ‘Sorry, I’m so- _

 

_ ‘I’m sorry.’ Marco says, cutting Auba off mid ramble and he’s still on the floor, ignoring Auba’s outstretched hands. He’s going to have to take it eventually but he delays for as long as possible, ‘That was a low blow’ Marco takes a deep breathe, ‘I don’t think I really forgave Mario either. It’s just that his promises to me were ones I made up in my head. Yours were real,’ Marco is looking at his wedding band like it’s hurting him to wear it, ‘and it’s too much to think that they weren’t.’ _

 

_ Despite all the couple’s therapy, this is the most Marco’s ever said about how he felt about Auba’s surprise transfer request. _

 

_ Auba can’t not let him leave.  _

 

*

 

Auba packs his bags.

 

But Marco comes back the next day.

 

And Auba finds that he can’t leave after all.

 

*

 

Marco wakes up in the middle of the night gasping.

 

And Auba pulls him to his chest, rubbing his back, ‘Bad dream?’

 

Marco chuckles wetly, ‘I’m not sure it was a dream.’ Auba keeps petting him, ‘is it weird that I’m angry at you?’

 

Auba has to laugh, ‘No, it isn’t. It was weird when you weren’t angry at me.’

 

‘I’ve been angry since I’ve woken up from the coma to be honest. Even though I don’t know why.’

 

Auba sighs, ‘You know why, you’ve just forgotten all the details.’

 

Marco’s hair is a little longer now and Auba enjoys how soft it is under his fingers, as they settle back against the pillows.

 

‘How does this end, Auba?’ Marco whispers, almost timidly.

 

Auba yawns and pulls him closer, snuggling in to sleep.

 

‘You’ll remember that too.’

 

*

_ Auba watches, numb, as Marco signs their divorce papers. _

 

_ They’re in Auba’s hotel room.  _

 

_ A neutral space. _

 

_ ‘I love you,’ Auba says when Marco hands him the document to sign. _

 

_ Why was that not enough? Auba thinks as he signs, doesn’t bother going to the table. The signature comes out wobbly as he signs it in his hands. Marco’s is a neat scrawl above his. _

 

_ When Marco takes back the document, he holds the side of Auba’s face and kisses his cheek, lets his lips linger. _

 

_ For a second it feels like Marco is going to say something. _

 

_ But the moment passes and all Auba is left with is the soft click of the front door closing. _

 

*

 

In the end, it happens almost exactly like the first time.

 

Marco gives in to his curiosity and googles what could have happened to cause the divorce, digs up Auba’s 2017 summer transfer rumors.

 

‘Are these real?’ He says, he’s holding out printouts of articles, his eyes are red but there’s no signs of tears anymore. Auba has always had transfer rumors surrounding him but Marco must have intuited what was real, he can make out the PSG logo on some of them.

 

‘Yes.’ Auba says, ‘but the deal fell through. I didn’t leave.’

 

‘But you wanted to.’ Marco responds and just like a decade ago Marco has landed exactly on the one thing he’s never been able to forgive.

 

Auba can tell Marco is in anguish, trying to piece together this information with the snatches of his memories. Auba reaches out for him, wants to make it better but Marco doesn’t take his hand. Auba doesn’t mind the slight, he knows he can’t make it better anyway.

 

‘I did.’ Auba says, ‘but I wanted to leave the club, not you.’ 

 

Auba knows there’s no point to him saying that, knows the next words that will come out of Marco’s mouth.

 

‘Is there a difference?’ Marco says, his hands are shaking and one of the articles flutters to the floor unnoticed.

 

Auba tries not to frown, but he’s tired of trying to tell Marco that he’ll remember every painful reiteration of this dialogue eventually. He’s tired of being the only one to know every way they can keep talking about this and have every one of them go wrong.

 

Marco looks scared and Auba thinks back to the time when the end had just begun for them and how scared he had been. While Marco is stuck in 2017, Auba has had a decade of understanding their downfall and he’s ready for this conversation to end differently. He’s ready to let go of pride and hurt and all those superficial things that seemed so important once upon a time.

 

‘I’m sorry.’ Auba says softly, he continues before Marco can argue, ‘I know you’ve heard those words so many times and they don’t mean anything anymore but I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before submitting a transfer request.’ Auba pauses a moment, let’s the words sink and recollects all the things he’s been wanting to tell Marco over the years, ‘I thought my transfer had nothing to do with you, but I was wrong. You were my husband, the love of my life and you deserved to be part of that decision.’

 

Auba’s eyes start to water and Marco is stunned into silence, either by his words or his tears, Auba can’t really tell.

 

Auba clears out his supplies from the bathroom and stuffs them into his backpack along with his pajamas. His suitcase has been packed for weeks already.

 

Marco trembles as he watches Auba pack silently.

 

‘Don’t go.’ Marco says so softly that Auba doesn’t almost hear him. But when he does, it’s nearly impossible to say no to that.

 

‘Don’t leave me.’ Marco repeats, louder this time, encouraged by Auba stopping in the doorway at his words, ‘We can fix this.’

 

Auba breathes, he approaches Marco and this time when Auba tries to hold him, Marco leans into it, presses his cheek into Auba’s palm.

 

‘I don’t think I can ever stop loving you,’ Auba says and for a second Marco’s eyes flicker with something akin to hope, ‘but it’s not enough and we can’t.’

 

Auba had held onto hope years after signing their divorce papers, naively anticipated playing together again to solve things, to nurture a love that began on the pitch. 

 

But it hadn’t and Auba no longer possesses a heart that can be squandered on blind optimism alone.

 

‘When you continue to remember things, you’ll remember that I blamed you - a lot - for us not working out. But I want you to know that I understand now why you couldn’t trust me.’

 

Auba kisses Marco on the cheek, lips lingering, and leaves him behind with the soft click of the front door.

 

*

 

_ Marco giggles when Auba’s fingers tickle up his sides. He’s embarrassed by the sound but he’s so happy, he can’t help it. They’re both drunk and laying on Marco’s bed. Auba’s hair tickles against his chin and his curls feel soft against his fingers. _

 

_ It’s unfair of Auba to come to Dortmund and catch Marco off guard so completely but Auba’s ankles are a solid weight slung carelessly across his legs and it eases the sting of seeing Mario in a Bayern jersey, a little. _

 

_ ‘You should stay.’ Marco says, he means to add ‘for the night’ but then the words leave his mouth and they’re perfect as they are.  _

 

_ Marco wants him to stay. _

 

_ It’s simple when you think about it. _

 

_ Auba hums, his warm breath against Marco’s chest softens the ice around the dreams that Marco has tried to give up on. _

 

_ ‘I’ll stay.’ Auba responds, voice raspy, and Marco looks down at Auba, because he needs it to mean what he wants it to mean. _

 

_ Auba continues, looking up drowsily, a sleepy smile playing in his eyes: _

 

_ ‘As long as you’re here, I’ll stay.’ _

**Author's Note:**

> So you finished that, let me know how you feel. Do you think they could be happy eventually? I kind of see it but I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> Comments and kudos are my saving grace. If you're angry at how much angst you're feeling, remember i wrote this so im almost dead now.
> 
> You can ALSO yell at me on [tumblr](https://eric-diers-toothbrush.tumblr.com/)


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